Datasets:

mickume

/

alt_pantheon

like 0

He looked at the devil curiously. "Will you show me how you left Heaven?"

Jim’s face immediately darkened. "No."

"Because I don’t care to relive it."

"Do you regret it?"

Jim was quiet for so long Sherlock thought he wouldn’t answer. Instead he shrugged.

"No. I was right then and I am right now. I’ll never go back to blind obedience."

Sherlock frowned, remembering something he’d learned as a child before he convinced his mother not to force him into Sunday church.

"You persuaded Eve to eat the fruit of the tree and took away her ignorance."

"That’s right. Humans may have been pure and guileless once, but they were also mindless sheep. For fuck’s sake, you should have seen Adam and Eve before that! They walked around naked without so much as a single thought of anything but hugging. What a waste of good arse."

"Is that what caused the rift between you and God? You thought he was keeping things from you?"

"I told you Sherly," he said with a voice like steel, "I won’t go back there."

He shrugged. "I just think it’s similar to who you were playing as Moriarty. The man who always needed to know more."

"Maybe. I told you Moriarty was a character close to my own self. Close your eyes."

Sherlock obeyed and when he opened them again he was back in the throne room. Jim looked a little drained and shuffled towards the table to drain a flagon, the wine spilling over his chest as he drank. Sherlock sat on his seat and closed his eyes. He figured it was just like going to his mind palace, so he focused on the familiar walls of it. When he opened his eyes he was in what looked like his normal mind palace but it didn’t have any of the same ornaments on the walls. Instead there were two floors and the same black doors Jim had, though his palace was made of a clean white limestone. He walked to a door at random and opened it, sticking his head in. Past-Mycroft was sitting on a bench doing his homework while past-Sherlock played on the grass. As Sherlock watched a bee swooped down and stung him. Past-Mycroft jumped up as his brother cried, hurrying to look.

"Here, let me see."

He pulled the stinger out of Sherlock’s finger with his teeth and spat it away, lifting the boy in his arms.

"We’ll go inside and wash it out, hmm?"

The ache in Sherlock’s chest swelled again and he ran backwards, slamming the door behind him. Perhaps he didn’t need his memory palace after all.

Sherlock rolled over to find Jim was already dressed and surrounded by kneeling souls. They whispered to him, faces slack and sad, hands held up as if they’d like to touch him but didn’t dare. He frowned and nodded, reaching out to stroke one girl’s face. She shuddered at the moment of white light that passed between them, kissing his hand as she hurried away. Jim shooed the others and they moaned but obeyed.

"I don’t understand why you do that. Aren’t they supposed to suffer?"

"It’s not like that, Sherly. I’m not His judge, jury and executioner. I take the bad souls because they don’t belong up there. I enjoy their misery, I delight in their pain, but I don’t need to torment them. They’re punished enough by their own thoughts."

"Are we going out tonight?"

"You are. I’m expecting a report from below."

Sherlock frowned. "I’m still going?"

"You think you can handle it by yourself? Just find a few to encourage, sow some sinful thoughts, cause a little havoc. I think you’ll have fun."

He was dubious but he had been going out with Jim long enough to have a fair idea what he was doing. Sherlock stood.

"Alright. I’ll leave you to it then."

He walked to the left, following the tunnel as he wondered where he should go. It didn’t matter really – there were people everywhere who’d respond to his efforts. He picked a random room and walked up to the canvas wall, reaching out carefully. He’d never done this without Jim but he found the spot that gave and stuck his arm through. The surface melted and he crossed into a noisy street. He’d say South America, at a guess. The houses were very colourful, the street crammed with tanned people rushing about on foot or bicycle. Sherlock wandered, an invisible tourist, immune to the heat he could feel coming off the dirt road. It was daytime, which meant he’d need to find a market or something with a lot of people. Night was always easier – people were more inclined to do their evil deeds in the dark.

He walked until he found a large open square. Women were washing their clothes in the fountain, children running around barefoot between the street vendors. He looked around, searching people’s thoughts for the trace of sin Jim had taught him to sniff out.

Sherlock picked up on a few petty jealousies between women at the fountain. He encouraged them with a simple touch of his hand, adding extra bitterness to their smiles. The children were pure, mischievous but wholly good underneath. They were being watched over by a stern-looking angel who glared but didn’t stop Sherlock working when he nodded and passed by his young charges.

He was halfway across the square when a sudden change in the air made him look up. At a house near the church, a man had walked onto the balcony. He was so dark Sherlock could see it around him like a black shadow, his face drawn in a sneer as he watched the people below. Sherlock felt immediately drawn to him. This man had to be marked for Jim; there was no possible way he could ever wash off that kind of sin. It was layered over him like armour, patches of anger and envy and greed cloaking him until it seemed like the light avoided his whole corner of the square.

Sherlock easily covered the distance between them, walking straight through the man’s front door and up the stairs. He passed a room with tables piled high with cash and bricks of cocaine, guns on the chairs nearby. There were two girls who both looked about fourteen asleep in his bed, their arms marked with needle pricks. Sherlock walked onto the balcony and leaned in, sensing the man’s thoughts. They were an angry swirl of vengeance and pride, and Sherlock couldn’t hold back a groan at the malevolent beauty of it.

Whatever had been left of the old Sherlock’s already skewed moral compass disappeared. He staggered as pain flared in his shoulders. Sherlock held up his hands as his nails grew long and sharp; he pressed a finger to his teeth as the canines extended. He felt more alive so close to this man. His soul was a vast abyss, condemned almost from birth. There was no need for Sherlock to tempt him into anything. He’d done it all. Sherlock could have probably convinced him to kill those girls in the bed or open fire on the crowd below, but it would have only gotten his sinner arrested and he’d rather have the man free to spread his violence and sorrow elsewhere.

He basked in the man’s darkness for another few minutes before walking back to the square. He wandered, making his small suggestions and pushes but he was distracted by the burn in his back. It wasn’t as bad now but it still hurt, and that wasn’t something he experienced much anymore. A tad worried something was wrong, he headed back to the waystation entrance and stepped through. He let his feet guide him back to Jim, missing the way the souls now rolled away from him with something that had ceased to be jealousy and was closer to fear.

When he walked into the throne room Jim was giving instructions to a small withered soul, but he stopped mid-sentence and spun his head to smile at Sherlock.

"Yes, my Lord."

The creature disappeared and Jim stood, striding over to circle his detective. He reached out and inspected Sherlock’s nails, testing the points of his teeth.

"I haven’t quite figured out how to put them away again."

"You only have to do it when you’re pretending to be human, and we haven’t covered that yet. I take it you found someone interesting?"

"He was the wickedest man I’d ever seen."

"How are your shoulders?"

Sherlock frowned. "They’re tender."

Jim nodded and started unbuttoning his shirt. He peeled it off and tossed it aside. Something twitched behind him and Jim grinned. He ran a hand down Sherlock’s spine and he shivered, almost falling over as black wings unfurled around him. He stared at the sleek feathers, flicking them gently.

"Look at that. You’re a real demon now, Sherlock Holmes."

They weren’t as big as Jim’s, not so majestic. He was pretty sure they wouldn’t hold his weight but he gave an experimental flap anyway, getting used to the sensation. Jim chuckled childishly, tickling the place where they met his back again.

"Now you’re perfect."

Sherlock looked at him and bit his lip, forgetting for a moment the fangs. He broke the skin, blood welling up. He licked it away, startled by the thick salty taste of it. Jim growled hungrily and leaned in to swipe it up, moaning appreciatively. The noise sent a jolt straight to Sherlock’s groin. He pawed at Jim, dragging a hand along his neck.

"Oh, feeling frisky are we?" the devil smiled.

He captured Sherlock’s lips, the two of them clashing in a biting kiss thanks to the still-present canines. Their blood combined on Sherlock’s tongue, the swirl making his knees weak. Jim’s blood tasted like old power and something he didn’t have, a sort of sweet honey flavour that made him think of music.

Jim snarled and dragged his own clothes off, wings spreading to match Sherlock’s. He clucked his tongue and seized the other man, springing off the ground. They soared to the top of the chamber, Sherlock letting Jim carry him. When they were high above the room Jim ripped away Sherlock’s pants and lifted his legs, wings flapping silently to hold them in place as Sherlock wrapped himself around the demon. Jim impaled him swiftly, turning in the air so Sherlock was astride him.

"You’ll have to steer, darlin’. I’m a little busy."

He held on to Jim’s shoulders tightly, raising himself up the shaft.  Sherlock sank back down carefully, not wanting to knock the devil too hard in case it affected his balance. They both cried out at the slow, tantalising motion. Sherlock rocked his hips again, driving Jim further inside him. He threw back his head and hummed low in his throat as they came together, Jim pressing against his sensitive spots as he clutched at the demon, nails digging furrows in his chest. Sherlock leaned forward to lick up the trailing blood, eyes drifting shut at that taste of ancient good and evil.

Jim grabbed him by the hips, forcing him to speed up. Sherlock brought himself down harder and harder, the two of them tilting slightly, but Jim’s wings beat steadily and they stayed in the air as Sherlock writhed in his lap. He caught the ex-detective’s hand and sucked his fingers, tongue lashing over the palm as his teeth nipped at Sherlock’s wrist. He sucked in a deep breath, tipping himself forward until their lips met. As soon as his canines scratched Jim’s lips again Sherlock groaned, his movements much faster. He thrust like a mad thing, hair dishevelled around his face as he slammed himself against the dark angel. Jim laughed.

"That’s my boy. Come on lad, where’s the fury?"

Sherlock dug his nails into Jim’s neck and the demon growled, his own talons extending. He swiped Sherlock’s arms, teeth sinking into the skin above his collarbone. Sherlock stiffened and came with a shout that echoed through the chamber, a hoarse shriek like some kind of hunting bird. He stopped, breath hitching in surprise, but the sound had tipped Jim right to the brink as well. He pumped Sherlock by his hips, driving himself into the demon frantically. Jim tilted the other man forward and roared, cock twitching as his climax was wrung out of him.

Unfortunately, his body stilling meant his wings froze as well. The two plummeted to the chamber floor, landing on the stone so hard Jim’s body dented it. The noise drew several small, hunched attendants but when they saw the two naked winged men they hurried away again. Sherlock quickly made to climb off him but Jim grabbed him by the waist.

"Where are you going?"

"You just hit the ground from almost thirty feet."

"I’ve fallen further than that, honey. Don’t you dare go anywhere."

He gathered the other man to his chest, grinning wickedly.

"My little Sherlock. I’m so proud I could crow."

The brunette chuckled against him. "Seems undignified."

"I think in this case, it’s worth it."

Sherlock spent his time on the surface alone now, treasuring both the break from Jim’s constant attentions and the new way he saw the world. Everywhere he walked he could see the angels and demons whispering to people, the ones marked for Heaven and those marked for Hell, the ones that couldn’t be swayed from their paths. He finally understood emotion, sensing the raw feeling even across busy streets. He could read a couple and see the intangible things that had always eluded him and seemed so simple to everyone else. And shockingly, it wasn’t as boring as he’d expected (but that might have been because he was feeding off them).

It was about three weeks after he’d gotten his wings when they were laying in the chalet that was Jim’s connection in the Himalayas. Jim trailed a hand over his stomach, nails scratching lightly, and made an annoyed noise.

"What’s wrong?"

"I have to go downstairs soon."

"Downstairs?" Sherlock frowned. "You mean the lower levels."

"Yes. There’s a meeting of the important demons and I have to hand out praise like a good daddy."

"Aren’t demons a little rough to care much for that sort of treatment?" he raised himself over Jim’s chest.

"A lot of them followed me from Paradise, Sherly. Their loyalty deserves a few rewards."

"Do you personally recruit all your new demons?"

"No. The others bring me targets and I say yes or no. I only directly intervene when it’s a big job or a fascinating person."

"Indeed. The more morally ambiguous, the better."

"How long will you be down there?"

"It’s a decent journey. A few days."

Sherlock pouted and buried his face in Jim’s neck, nipping at the skin. Lucifer grinned.

"You know, you could always come."

"What?" Sherlock sat up.

"Fancy a tour of the lower depths?"

"You said they were...unpleasant."

"For souls,sure, but you’re a demon now. You’ll be fine. You can meet some of the others."

"I suppose I don’t have much of a choice, do I?"

"Nope. Lord and Master, remember?"

"Very well. I look forward to it."

They set off the next day. Jim led Sherlock back through the darker, more twisted section of the canvas corridors. He came to a room with nothing but a thick iron trapdoor. There were no souls in here and the lanterns were much dimmer than the rest of the maze. Jim gestured and the trapdoor squeaked open to reveal a set of stone stairs.

"Go on, Sherly."

He looked at Jim resentfully but started down the steps. The world opened up into a never-ending dull plain, the earth cracked and hard under a blistering sun. The sky was a cloudless blue, the wind blowing hot and fierce. Sherlock looked around as he reached the bottom. Figures with skin so transparent they looked like paper sculptures were lying prone on the ground, staring vacantly at the sky. As Jim stepped off the staircase it disappeared, leaving them in the middle of the desert.

"Who are these people?"

"The gluttons – the ones who went beyond "just a little obese’. Drug addicts, alcoholics, any addiction really."

"And they’re starving."

"Starving or jonesing with no hope of relief and no sweet, welcoming death, no distractions, nothing but their own minds."

Sherlock shuddered. If he’d continued with his addictions he might have ended up here. Jim started off across the earth and he hurried to keep up. They walked for an hour without seeing any change in the landscape or the souls trapped in it, just a rolling arid horizon. Finally Jim stopped.

"I don’t see anything."

"You can’t feel the dark?"

Sherlock closed his eyes and focused. There was something, a pull on his skin beneath them.

Jim clicked his fingers and the ground opened up, a ladder leading into what looked like pitch black. He started down first, Sherlock following carefully, groping his way down. As his foot touched the bottom the hole closed over, leaving them in absolute night.

The devil held up his hand, hellfire flaring around it bright enough to see their way. Sherlock stuck close to him, almost treading on his heels as they negotiated the empty space.

They’d been walking for a while when Sherlock thought he saw the light slide over something to their left.

"What’s down here?"